


Chris Argent is bad at feelings

by Closetfic_er



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Prompt Fill, Protective Chris, Sad Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4427741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Closetfic_er/pseuds/Closetfic_er
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles’ anger is rising. “You act like you never get hurt! You act like you’re the only one who worries!”</p>
<p>Chris looks straight at his young lover, gaze unflinching. “I know you worry, but I can take care of myself. I’ve spent my life doing it. I don’t need anyone but me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chris Argent is bad at feelings

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo I seem to be going for Chriles/Chrisstiles/Stargent (whatever it’s called!) on this one…I will literally ship Stiles with any male. Also, please forgive the awkward gun talk- I’m Australian and have no clue about such things. I imagined Chris starting the fic off doing this http://dianameade.tumblr.com/post/44522769399 then this http://rebloggy.com/post/gifs-teen-wolf-sexy-can-i-chris-argent-mine-teen-wolf-gifs-tv-thank-you-war/43912092237, and I need to fan myself because HOT DAMN!
> 
> Prompt taken from http://shippygoodness.tumblr.com/post/124477731112/graceland-sentence-starters.
> 
> And woah, this fic just grew LEGS AND RAN THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME. I thought it’d be short and sweet and a bit funny, but have some angst and fluff and other stuff. As with all my fics, this aint beta’ed.

Stiles sighs, exasperated beyond all belief, as Chris slams the clip of his pistol home.

 

“No.” His boyfriends’ eyes and voice are positively glacial.

 

“Tell me, I deserve to know!”

 

“No.”

 

“Omega?”

 

“No.”

 

“'No’ it’s not an Omega, or ‘no’ you won’t answer me?”

 

“No.”

 

“Come on!” Stiles whines.

 

“No, Stiles. I’m not letting you get yourself involved. Again. Remember what happened last time?”

 

He glares. “That wasn’t even my fault.”

 

“You still ended up on Deaton’s table getting your leg sewn up. We had to abandon the plan. You knowing things is a bad idea.”

 

“And me not knowing things is a recipe for a fucking panic attack, Christopher!”

 

“No.”

 

Stiles’ anger is rising. “You act like you never get hurt! You act like you’re the only one who worries!”

 

Chris looks straight at his young lover, gaze unflinching. “I know you worry, but I can take care of myself. I’ve spent my life doing it. I don’t need anyone but me.”

 

Stiles sucks in a hurt breath at that last, and it mingles with the anger in his voice as he snaps. “And that’s just supposed to magically make me stop worrying about you? I’m 'sposed to just go 'oh, the love of my life is running off in the middle of the night with his fucking gun strapped to his thigh and he won’t tell me why, but hey, it’s ok. He can take care of himself. He doesn’t need anyone. He said so.’ I can’t do that, Chris!”

 

Chris just stares, watching Stiles’ chest rise and fall rapidly after his tirade.

 

“Well? Are you going to say anything?”

 

“I’m the love of your life?”

 

Stiles flushes. “Yes, ok! Yes! You’re the love of my life! And I know I’m not yours, but can you- could you- look, I know you don’t…” He falters to a stop, body turning slightly away from Chris, eyes on the ground and throat spasming slightly. “Just. Just go. Forget it.”

 

Chris watches as his boyfriend crumples in on himself, dejection written in every line of his body.

 

And he knows, ok? He knows he should walk out. He knows if he was a decent man he would walk away, leave Stiles behind to get over him, to find someone his own age. Someone who could maybe give Stiles a shot at a normal life. One where he’s not constantly running the risk of ending up on a fucking vet’s table, bleeding out while his useless, helpless, older boyfriend looks on.

 

But he can’t do that.

 

Stiles flinches slightly as he grasps his shoulders and turns him back towards him. It hurts to see him jump like that, that he won’t meet his gaze. But he knows he brought it on himself. He’s tried so hard to keep Stiles away from this business, away from danger, that it’s made it seem like he doesn’t care for Stiles the way that Stiles cares for him.

 

It’s a hurt he can handle, one he’ll suck up and take on the chin knowing that it’s probably a pale shadow of the pain he’s visited upon Stiles. He replays his words of not even two minutes ago and winces internally. He’d told Stiles he doesn’t need him, and Jesus Christ is that a lie. He doesn’t think he’s ever needed anyone more in his life.

 

“Stiles, baby, please look at me.”

 

Red-rimmed eyes rise to meet his own as he cups Stiles beautiful face between his palms.

 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’ve been such a shitty boyfriend that you think I don’t love you just as much as you love me. I was trying to protect you, and I was pushing you away. I love you. I need you more than I think I’ve ever needed anyone in my life.”

 

He presses a chaste kiss to Stiles’ lips. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Why did you say it then?”

 

“Because I’m an idiot who doesn’t think before he speaks. Because I assume you can read my mind like you sometimes seem to read my moves. Because you’re the love of my life and I can’t lose you, I can’t watch Deaton struggle to save your life again.”

 

“I. I’m the love of your life? But what about Victoria?”

 

Chris sighs. “Stiles, Victoria and I were a political match. A business match. Sure, we got along pretty well before the end. But I never needed her, wanted her, like I do you. She was a good leader, and a great hunter. But she was all sharp angles and cold as ice. Even if I’d wanted to love her, I couldn’t’ve. Not like I love you.”

 

He strokes Stiles’ cheek with the back of his knuckles, and the boy tilts his face into it. “I survived her death with ease. I couldn’t survive yours.”

 

Stiles blinks his eyes open, meeting Chris’ remorseful gaze. “Don’t ever push me away like that again.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

“Don’t keep me in the dark.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

“You’re going to make it up to me.”

 

“I will, everyday for as long as it takes. However you want me to.”

 

Stiles wraps his arms around Chris’ neck and tucks himself into his chest. “That’s a lot of grovelling you’re signing yourself up for. I could hold a grudge for months. Years, even.”

 

“And I’d deserve it. I’ve been a dick.”

 

Stiles huffs out a laugh and presses even closer. “Kinda, yeah.”

 

They stand in silence, breathing in each others scent and revelling in the closeness of their embrace.

 

“This isn’t about getting revenge on the cartel that got you hooked on heroin, is it?”

 

Chris barks out a laugh and draws Stiles in for a kiss, mission momentarily forgotten.

 

*****

 

Later, he’ll tell Stiles everything.

 

After that, he’ll call his contacts and tell them they’re delaying the plan.

 

Somewhere down the track, he’ll start to train Stiles the way he should have trained him already. Not to be a cold-hearted hunter, but to protect himself. To make him someone that can stand at Chris’ side and survive this world that he’s been thrust into.

 

For now, though, Chris lays Stiles down on their bed and worships every inch of the young man who kept giving his heart to him even when he shoved it away.

 

For now, he begins his grovelling with tender kisses and whispered words of love as Stiles arches his body up into his own, breathless and sweaty and easily the most stunningly gorgeous thing Chris has ever laid eyes on.

 

Morning finds them curled into each other, Stiles asleep with his head resting on Chris’ shoulder while the older man runs gentle fingers through his hair.

 

There’s drool on his clavicle, but Chris doesn’t care.

 

He’ll take drool on his person every day for the rest of his life without complaint if it means he gets to have this. If it means he gets to wake up to Stiles in his arms, the sun bathing them in light like some kind of Hollywood depiction of early morning bliss.

 

He’ll take it, and he’ll be thankful.


End file.
